ON THE BACK OF THE WINDDEAD HOURS OF DAWN
Holy men lurk on every street corner
Selling fake myths
Nuns in white robes with virgin toes
And mushroom dreams
Take up residence inside my head
Wannabe poet laureates steal my poems
Plagiarize my biography
Political hacks make robot telephone calls
At all hours of the day and night
I’m being stalked by Dick Tracy
Look-a-likes with flat feet and bug eyes
The wolf’s eerie howl haunts my dreams
Poetry Flash takes out an advertisement
Denies my existence
TV Evangelists pickpocket my empty wallet
The crime scene runs out of yellow tape
The police lineup consists of six pygmies
And a ham sandwich
The grand jury indicts me without hearing
The evidence
God wanders the Universe like a Cyclops
Looking for the lost soul of Judas
Jesus challenges Satan for a duel
At the heart of the Bermuda Triangle
The Holy Ghost confiscates my dreams
Holds me for a ransom I cannot pay
I’ve become a one-legged tightrope walker
Without a safety net
My poems turn into pigeon feathers
Fly away on the back of the wind